Desert Breeze
by ohxasphyxiationx
Summary: Penelo," her name like a Desert Breeze, escaping from his lips.


Just a little something I thought up

Just a little something I thought up. Seemed romantic at the time. All the guys in FFXII are so different, right? Well, that's pretty much what this is about. Perhaps a little OOCness because I'm pretty much making assumptions based on personality. Reviews and constructive criticism is love, flames are not. –ohxasphyxiationx

His arms would always be the one she would run to. Despite all the other lovers who had embraced her, pleasured her, and warmed her bed, there were none like him. It was more than just physical attraction, and it was far more than just need or lust or desire.

Despite how much she vehemently denied it, and no matter how hard she had tried to maintain the upper hand, she had to admit that she had let him get to her. It was his ability to do what no one else had that bothered her the most. Penelo was far from coldhearted or cruel; rather, she was tender and loving and sweet. But behind all of that, there was room for nothing else but friendly love in her heart.

_Or so she thought._

Truth be told, she had many lovers before him, just to comfort her, kill her loneliness even, but mostly to satisfy her needs. Despite the innocence that adorned all of her features, she was far from pure. Her first sexual experience had been years ago, after the death of her parents. As an orphan on the street, working at Migelo's had never been enough to live by comfortably.

She was not a whore, nor a prostitute, but like all of Rabanastre's poor, she had to do _something_ to get by. But it was never a job nor a chore, just favors. She had found enjoyment in doing that from time to time, and over her long voyage in search of Dalmasca's liberation, she had needed it. _Craved it. _And with all the men on board, she had worked her way around receiving it.

Vaan was an energetic lover, filled with youth and energy, who brought her to her peak quickly every time. Their lovemaking was fast paced and demanding, and by the end of it, sweat glistened all over their toned and youthful bodies and their hair stuck to their forehead as they gasped in each other's embrace, panting and fulfilled.

Basch was careful and mainly concerned in bringing forth her pleasure rather than his own. It was nice, at first, his dedication to bringing her higher and higher every time, but it was greatly disappointing to Penelo to not be able to do the same in return. Their love was slow and precise, with perfectly angled thrusts that hit her spot dead-on every time making her quake in pleasure, leaving his needs unfulfilled and her role worthless.

Balthier was the more experienced of all three, which Penelo concluded could only be because he had bedded many other women in his past. With his dashing good looks and sharp tongue it was hard not to be attracted to Balthier, and although he knew every spot that would make her moan, and positions she had never even heard of, he sought mostly his own pleasure, doing just enough to get her there, and then ending it with his own blissful and intense release, leaving her unsatisfied before sending her away to her own cabin so he could sleep in peace- because he didn't want to be tied down, ever.

But the way _he_ made love to her was like none other. He was eager to please her, well educated in the art of bed chamber, but she knew there was something different in his tender kisses, her smooth caresses, but most of all, his whispers of undying love for her, _just her_, and eternal fidelity, breathed into her ear as he thrust into her. He brought her to highest she had ever been, quaking around him and burning hot and so intense, and only then did he seek his own pleasure. And when it was all over, as she stood by the door, he was the only one who begged her to stay.

"_Penelo,"_ her name passing his lips like a cool breeze in the middle of a Dalmascan dessert, "Do not leave me this time."

With a heavy heart she had to turn around, staring at him deeply, intensely, her heart begging her to stay but all parts of her brain shouting no. She was going to be a sky pirate one day, free to roam wherever she pleased, a fugitive of law, rough and tough and unstoppable. There was no space for love in that plan.

She opened the door and stood holding the handle, hesitation written across her features, before stepping over the threshold and looking back one more time.

"I'm so sorry, Larsa."


End file.
